


Down memory lane

by Caliras



Series: Dyslexic Stan [11]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Abusive Filbrick Pines, Dyslexia, Dyslexic Stan, Filbrick Pines' Bad Parenting, Hopeful Ending, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Memories, Past Child Abuse, Protective Stan Pines, Sad Grunkle Stan, only briefly mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 13:43:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14521833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caliras/pseuds/Caliras
Summary: Stan gets caught up in some memories from his past.





	Down memory lane

**Author's Note:**

> Even though there is nothing graphic, child abuse is definitely there, so please be careful.

_The doctor cleared her throat before she spoke up again, handing him another card as she spoke, “So, how about this font.”_

_Stan got the feeling that this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. But, strangely, he felt as if wasn’t going to be pushed for whatever they wanted._

_Even if he still thought blackmail might be involved._

~~~~~~~

The memories no longer blocked out the environment around him, but -as if a dam had burst-, they came washing over him. They were less intense than flashbacks, but were still very unwanted. The first was how he realized he hated colors. Well, it was more of a series of memories, but eh. This was brought on by the lack of color on the card, a simple black and white. He was almost grateful. He couldn’t control it as he remembered the expression his father held as he found his paintings. He burned them, the colors fading into orange, then black, then grey.

It hurt. It hurt to watch his effort being washed away as he’d never done it in the first place. Which is what his father wanted. He remembered the blue-purple bruises that had Ford concerned until he said something about boxing or bullies. Colors became commonplace on him. A mosaic that no-one but himself saw. His brother saw it, sometimes, but it was mostly hidden. He loathed the brilliant red sky that turned into a deep, beautiful blue, freckled with soft, blurry white stars and the fuzzy moon as they went past curfew. Stan always took the blame, and Ford never found out. The crimson of his mothers dresses she wore, her golden bands, the pale pink phone she was constantly on, not feeling any sort of remorse for whatever she did.

It was built into her, a habit she couldn’t break. The muted colors of a swingset. The yellow of his fathers jacket. His red car. His own scarlet blood that he saw spilling out onto the streets, and staining his hands. It became an almost common sight on the streets. The bright neon lights that enticed others, but revolted him. Colorful streaks of cars as he looked from a... high enough bridge, staring down. The sickening bright blue of the portal. A gleaming golden handprint. A demonic yellow triangle that caused pain. So much pain. He was always surrounded by colors. It wasn’t often they meant anything good.

Clearing his throat, he looked at the card again, finding the words nearly unreadable, “Nope.”

“Okay, that was OpenDyslexic, we’ll move onto Arial next,” Dr. Medicine said, once again trading cards.

Trading cards… just like the ones Filbrick had in his shop. Okay. A ridiculous comparison, but tell that to his brain. Another memory washed over him. They were in the shop, and Filbrick was angry. Very angry. He wanted to shrink back against the shadows, so he didn’t have to feel his father's rage. But this time- it wasn’t directed at him. No. Nonono. Nononononononono. Ford wasn’t supposed to get in trouble. He couldn’t. Nononono. Stan had- he’d promised. He’d promised himself after he’d found out that Ford didn’t know, that if- that if Ford would ever get in trouble that he’d- that he’d protect him. But how?! He wouldn’t allow Ford to be hurt.

So he had stepped forward. He had stepped forward with no plan, no confidence, nothing other than the knowledge that he wouldn’t allow this to happen. Something had caught his eye on a nearby table and suddenly, he knew what to do. He yawned. A big, fake yawn, as he spread his arms as far as they could go. His arm landed behind an old, antique vase. He repressed both a smile and the feeling of a seeping, hollow dread as he swiped his arm forward, snagging the vase with it. The sound of it shattering against the floor was nothing compared to the deafening silence that followed.

Ford ended up with a stern lecture, one that Stan had long forgotten the context of. Stan… well. Filbrick had been furious. He’d gotten… sloppy. The next day, his mom had shown him how to cover up bruises with makeup. He never asked how she knew how to do it, or why she was so good at it. He already knew. He began to carry the concealer everywhere. With some difficulty, he refocused back on the card and saw that they were moving at a noticeably slower rate and couldn’t help smiling. He nodded at the doctor, who smiled back.

She handed him another card, but he was just able to hear that it was ‘Calibri’ before he was once again caught in memory. He hated the feeling of not being in control, but as for now he couldn’t do much about it as he saw the vivid memory.

“Stan?” A young Ford asked as they lay on the beach, looking out at the waves that gently crashed upon each other.

“Hmm?” Came his reply, not wanting to speak quite yet.

“Why do you always have bruises?” His brother questioned, turning to his twin.

“I-” He started, not knowing what to say in the face of his brother’s honesty, before suddenly grinning, “I’ll tell you when you’re older, sixer”

Leaning over, he ruffled his brothers hair while Ford sputtered, “You’re only like, two minutes older than me!”

Stan laughed, withdrawing his hand, “It’s nothing Sixer, you know me. I’m very clumsy, I have a lot of bullies, and I box. I’m just surprised there aren’t more bruises!”

His twin had pouted, before seeming to accept the answer as he threw sand down Stan’s shirt. This had ended up in a sand fight, and for almost a week, everywhere they went, sand followed. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he looked at the new card, but didn’t really take anything in. Fortunately, Mabel seemed to notice that something was wrong as she hugged his arm and smiled at him. He had decided long ago that he hated colors, that all they ever did was bring him pain. He still stood by that. But… he thought, looking over at Mabel and Dipper, covered in colorful stickers, and bright colored clothing as they stood -or rather, sat- by him. Sometimes -just sometimes-, they weren’t so bad. He smiled back.


End file.
